


Burn The Castle

by backseatoftheimpala



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Organized Crime, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29812014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backseatoftheimpala/pseuds/backseatoftheimpala
Summary: London,1940s.Hermione inexplicably got intertwined in the dealings of London's organized crime network. When a mysterious Mr.Black took it into his own hands to save her, she must figure out who he is and what he wants from her. His right-hand man, Tom Riddle, seems to have plans on his own.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Regulus Black/Hermione Granger
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	Burn The Castle

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Description of rape in a sentence or two. It isn't explicit, but it's always best to include warnings.

Hell is cold, they say. The cell was damp and humid at best, with the walls smelling like the sewers. Sometimes trails of foul-smelling water would trickle down the corner, forming a pool on the floor.

It wasn’t exactly floor either. It used to be plastered, she deduced, but the humid and damp temperature, combined with the occasional drip from the pipes above her cell, had reduced it to no more than a ground painted gray.

She struggled to keep herself sane for the first few weeks; pacing around her cell relentlessly, marking her days on the wall, planning her escape. Yet the longer they took, she began to question if the clues she had left behind are too subtle, or that the detectives and the police are just plain stupid.

She had also begun to speculate the party responsible for the abduction, and on what they were planning to do to her. Her parents are both dentists; they were affluent enough to give her the best education they could, but certainly not the richest family in London.

People also barely recognize her on the streets; she wasn’t conventionally beautiful. That leaves her with the black market. Which part of her will they be making thousands of dollars with?

Her liver might be an excellent choice, she thought. She had never touch liquor and would leave a party once illegal things start circulating. She had countless friends who did, (grew tired of lecturing them about the effects of drugs and hallucinogen, it’s not like Health class had not done the goddamn job.) and although she did not exactly approve of their recreational option, she never said a thing to anyone.

There was a loophole, though. If all they wanted with her was her organs, they could’ve just done the job and leave her bleeding. It has been weeks and the only thing she has been fed on was a cold and possibly spoiled chowder, sliding in through a rectangular opening on the left corner of the room, barred when unused, twice a day. Her mouth twitched. Not exactly a thing you do when you want to get a fresh organ to sell on the market.

That leaves her with the last option. Hermione heard herself stifling a scream. As much as she did not want to consider that as an option, she had no choice but to. The thought of undressing to keep herself alive itself was humiliating enough, moreover having to bend over and let someone take her from behind. It was disturbing and immoral and outright shameful—

She felt hot tears trickling down her eyes. It was the first time she had an outburst ever since she got here, trapped in the middle of nowhere (there’s a high possibility that she’s in London since she heard roars of trains traveling down the pipes. Maybe. Or she could’ve just imagined it. Who knows what they’ve been putting on her chowder? She might’ve been hallucinating now for all she knows.) and not knowing anything.

And how she hates not knowing anything. She wanted to scream. She wanted to yell and threw a temper tantrum and kill anyone responsible for her abduction. How dare they did this, to her, Hermione Jean Granger, Valedictorian, President of the Social and Political Emancipation for Women club (abbreviated as S.P.E.W), youngest contributor to the research section of The Prophet, and possibly the most over-achieving eighteen-year-old people had the opportunity to meet in their lives?

She ruffled her already messy mane. She did everything in order to make her life in order. Everything, and this is what she got in return?

Her life is fucking shit.

She felt more tears on her cheeks, and she didn’t even try to hide it anymore. And so she bawled. Cried until her throat hurts, her voice hoarse, and her eyes all red.

She cried all night.

No one was there to comfort her.

Just the same metal plate with chowder sliding down the opening. (She heard heavy footsteps and her sobbing instinctively stopped, and when it went away with the sound of metal doors being closed, she continued.)

It came to a point that she did not know what exactly was she crying for. Was she mourning her fate? Was she mourning her wasted attempt in improving her status on the social ladder by latching on a scholarship to Oxford?

* * *

She woke up the next day. She felt strangely refreshed, more awake than she had ever been.

One.

Two.

Three.

She fought the urge to scream. She was strapped to a metallic surgical table and is in a different room than the sewer she was rotting in, clinically white from top to bottom. She was stripped of her dirty school uniform; instead, she was clothed in a blue knee-length nightgown. She was thankful that they didn’t touch any of her undergarments, anything more would’ve been humiliating.

She heard the door opening, with several footsteps coming in. Foul smell of marijuana and cigarettes filled the air, and Hermione crinkled her nose in disgust.

“Granger danger..” The platinum blond sang, in a manner that is far too innocent for the situation. He was wearing a plain black shirt paired with gray Levis jeans, torn in several places, and a pair of jet-black winter boots that cost more than her school tuition.

She turned her head to the other side, not wanting to face her abductors. She had waited for this confrontation for so long, rehearsing what she was going to say countless of times, but now everything was just plain wrong. She was strapped on a fucking table and is in no position to do anything other than beg for their mercy to at the very least, untie her.

“Throw your cigarettes away, Malfoy. We’re going to look like we are the ones responsible for her abduction in the first place.”

Another voice spoke, sounding utterly bored. Her eyes snapped open, staring at the group of seemingly wayward privileged boys in disbelief.

The tallest one in the group raised his brows, hands still in his pocket. “Yaxley, untie her. Jesus, be fast. She’s Regulus Black’s fiancee for fuck’s sake.”

A sandy blond male approached her, his hazel eyes boring deep into her own before reaching for her tied hands, snapping it open with a swift move. She kept her gaze down the whole time, sitting up once Yaxley was done with his assigned job.

The tall male then walked towards her, hands still in his pocket as he leaned in, considerably closer to her face. Hermione felt the heat rising on her cheeks, yet she wasn’t going to admit defeat.

Gray eyes seemed to be staring at her for an eternity before he actually pulled back, producing a Mont Blanc pen from his pocket. Holding it straight in front of her eyes, Hermione was able to put things up together in her mind.

“I’m under no effects of alcohol nor drugs. Thank you for saving me. I am grateful.”

She thought she saw a faint surprise painted on his face, yet it faded before she had the chance to make sure of it. He then smiled, offering his hands for support.

“Well then Ms. Granger, you are under the protection of Lord Voldemort now. Please, allow me to escort you.”

It astonished her how different he sounded when he was talking to her. He was a different person; a magnetic young gentleman, voice smooth and low, and his manners amicable.

It took her a moment to realize that she has been staring at him, trying to decipher him and his peculiar group and how she got into this messed up situation in the first place.

But as they say, knowledge is power. For Hermione, it is the only thing she had. Her bargaining power.

And she knew nothing.


End file.
